


Ripples

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Onmyouji | The Yin-Yang Master (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something in the water...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripples

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozsaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur/gifts).



Early in the seventh month, Lord Tanabe bade farewell to his mistress and set off for Otsu. He journeyed alone and took paths and trails unknown to the average traveller, keeping away from the main roads not out of a desire to avoid company but to stay out of the sun, for the season was unbearably hot this year.

Tanabe wasn’t looking forward to returning to Heian-Kyo. Perhaps he could wait out the month in his country house on the shore of Lake Biwa. His wife, who resided with her elderly father, never left the capital. Not even when they were first married had she shown any interest in taking a journey to Ise or Nara. When her friends invited her on retreats, she always refused, saying that the city had an abundance of shrines and temples to receive her prayers.

And perhaps she was right, Tanabe mused. Their marriage was congenial enough, with her wealth glossing his family name. He had hopes of his two sons doing well at court, and as for his daughter—ah, she was a beauty! Tanabe had great dreams for her. She would be a gentlewoman for certain, attending upon the Emperor. Maybe she would even become a consort, and his family’s status would rise and rise.

He smiled as his horse clopped along the familiar path through the forest. Daydreaming was such a pleasant occupation, especially in the early morning when a cooling breeze still blew. It stirred the dappling shadows and roused the scent of pines and dry earth until it mingled with the variation on the Lotus Leaf fragrance so lovingly prepared for him by his mistress.

His thoughts changed direction, focusing now on the shy, pretty young woman he’d left behind. She was altogether different to his wife—charming and amenable, always delighted whenever he visited her, never complaining that his palace duties kept him away for so many months of the year. For a while now he’d considered installing her in the house on Lake Biwa so she’d be closer at hand, but that seemed too much like acquiring a second wife.

Besides, if he moved her to his Biwa house, she’d probably lose the sweetness that so fascinated him. Her innocent view of the world would be revealed as ignorance; her happy smiles would become jaded; her pleasure in simple gifts would turn into demands for more costly presents.

Yes, better for things to remain as they were.

Tanabe’s head lolled. He began to slide from the saddle. His horse snorted, and Tanabe jerked awake, snatching at the reins in time to stop himself from tumbling to the ground. His ungainly movement knocked his lacquered cap askew, and as he settled it back on his head, heart beating at how close he’d come to a fall, he tangled himself in his light summer cloak.

The horse snorted again and came to a halt. Tanabe cursed the animal, even though he was secretly glad it had stopped. He took a few moments to put himself to order, arranging his cloak behind him, adjusting his pale blue outer sleeves to show the vibrant yellow within, then he clicked his tongue and pressed his heels to the horse’s flanks.

The animal didn’t move, except to toss its head very slightly and to utter another snort. Softer, this time. Quieter. As if in warning.

Tanabe looked around. The forest was silent but for the occasional burst of birdsong and the sighing of the breeze through the topmost branches. He listened, senses alert for danger. Though villainous men sometimes lurked in these woods ready to rob wealthy travellers, it would be a surprise to encounter such men here, so far from the road. Tanabe was certain his mount could outrun any criminals, but he could hear nothing. No cracking of twigs, no footsteps.

The horse was shivering now, its ears flicking and tail swishing as if tormented by flies. Tanabe patted its shoulder and crooned something comforting. Four years he’d had this mount, and it had never behaved like this before. Something must have spooked it. Perhaps it could sense something more terrifying than highwaymen. Something like an earthquake. But then the birds were still singing, and Tanabe was certain that all living creatures fell silent and fled before an earthquake struck.

He dismounted and took the horse by its reins to lead it forward. The animal refused to budge. After a few moments of unsuccessful effort, Tanabe gave up. He peered through the trees and saw a flash of light, a reflection of the sun on water.

“It’s a pond,” he told his horse with a chuckle. “Nothing to be scared of. In fact,” he continued, lifting his waterskin down from the saddle, “the water on this part of the mountain is uncommonly good. It won’t hurt to replenish our supply now rather than at that flea-ridden inn at the north of the lake.”

The horse still refused to move, so Tanabe loosely tethered its reins and went through the trees towards the pool. He’d never noticed it before, but perhaps that wasn’t surprising. Usually there was much more greenery, but this year the undergrowth was scrubby, wilted, and dead.

Around the pond, the grass grew soft and lush. There was a distinct boundary between where the forest floor ended and the grass began, as if someone had cut back the turf and weeded the forest to be certain of maintaining the distinction. On a pine tree nearby was a faded sign, an image painted onto a wooden board. There were no words on it. Whoever had made the sign must have been illiterate, or wanted to warn illiterates. Instead there was a picture.

Tanabe glanced at it without understanding what it represented, then returned his gaze to the inviting sparkle of the water. It trickled from beneath a large boulder to feed a pool almost the shape of the full moon and wider than the span of his outstretched arms. Despite the ferocity of the summer, the pond was full. A few weeds floated on the surface. Something stirred below; perhaps a fish darting into the cool depths.

He went closer, the sun on the back of his neck, his shadow short as he peered into the pond. The gentle burble of the water was soothing. The sunlight glistered, dazzling his vision with spots of brightness. Tanabe knelt upon the welcoming grass and put out a hand. He saw it reflected in the water. He shuffled closer, then cupped both hands and plunged them into the pool.

The water was cold. Gloriously so, promising refreshment. A violent thirst overcame Tanabe. He thrust his hands lower, his fine silk sleeves falling into the pond, water stains running and spreading from the wrists up to his shoulders. Coldness twined through him, so delightful against the heat of the morning. He bent lower, bringing his face down and his hands up for the first taste of the water.

His cupped hands broke the surface. The water was red and cloudy.

Red like blood.

Tanabe yelped and started back. Then reason asserted itself. He’d seen water like this before, rich with minerals that stained it various colours. It would taste a little odd, but it would still quench his thirst.

Chuckling at his foolishness, he dipped in his hands again.

Cold fingers wrapped around his wrists. Cold, slimy fingers. When Tanabe tried to pull free, the fingers gripped tighter.

A body drifted up from the darkness. It was pale and bloated. A face appeared. Cold, dead eyes stared up at him.

Tanabe tried to scream. He was pulled into the water, his breath releasing in a shower of bubbles that trailed down and down into the dark cold.

On the surface the ripples faded, and all was still.

* * *

Of all the seasons, Hiromasa liked summer best. It wasn’t simply because the heat led the good people to flee the capital for Lake Biwa, which teemed with the best-tasting fish in the land. Neither was it because ladies dressed only in the sheerest of robes that, when damp with perspiration, clung enticingly to their bodies—although this was certainly a bonus.

No, he liked summer best because the warmth and long hours of daylight were most conducive to sitting on the veranda with Seimei and sharing a jar or three of wine. In autumn he felt moved to write poetry; in winter it was too cold to sit out, even muffled in furs and warm layered clothing; and in spring Seimei was too often distracted by the garden. Summer, though—summer was perfect.

Today Hiromasa was feeling the effects of a perfect summer night. Yesterday he had come into possession of a rare vintage and had invited Seimei to sample it with him. They’d stayed up until dawn, and by the time Hiromasa had sought his bed, he was thoroughly drunk.

In fact, Hiromasa had no recollection of getting himself into bed. When he woke this afternoon, he, his sleeping mat and pillow roll were not in the centre of the room as usual but placed close by the lattice blinds to take advantage of the cooling breeze from the lake.

No doubt Seimei had meant it as a kindness, but unfortunately every mosquito in the immediate vicinity had taken it as an invitation to dine. Hiromasa itched in several places. He would have words with Seimei. Strong words. But before those words passed his lips, he would ask for a soothing salve.

Decided upon this plan, Hiromasa set out to call upon his friend. He walked, the distance not being particularly far, and was delayed along the way by the necessity of greeting this or that acquaintance. In the capital, Seimei’s estate stood at the very edge of the city, as far away as one could go while still being called civilised. Here on Lake Biwa, however, his summer residence had a much more central location. When Hiromasa had asked about this, Seimei had fixed him with a look and said, “When the house was built, there were no neighbours in any direction for five miles.”

For all that it was now surrounded by other residences, Seimei’s house retained an air of mystery. The walls were high and the trees behind them higher. Casual callers were inevitably turned away, and so it was a surprise when Hiromasa was admitted to the main hall only to find Seimei engaged in entertaining a visitor.

A female visitor, at that.

At first Hiromasa suspected the usual trickery. Seimei did so love to tease him by arranging elaborate charades involving female shikigami, and since Hiromasa didn’t like to disappoint, he always teased the shikigami and picked them up, feeling them giggle before they transformed back into a flower or paper doll.

But the lady who sat opposite Seimei today was possessed of a quiet dignity and a... _solidness_. Hiromasa knew the word was inappropriate to describe a woman, but compared to a shikigami, this lady was much more real and tangible in her presence.

She was also older than the shikigami, he noticed when she turned her head to regard him over the top of her fan. The motif of delicate pink roses painted upon an eggshell-blue background suggested youth, but her robes were triple-layered despite the afternoon heat, and their colour combination as well as the dark autumnal scent that permeated them spoke of her as a woman of maturity.

“Ah, Hiromasa.” Seimei smiled, but was otherwise still and straight-backed. “This is Lady Kishi. Her husband is Oe no Tanabe.”

Hiromasa bowed. “Good day, Lady Kishi. I have the honour of an acquaintance with your father.” A miserable old devil he was, too, and grasping, even though he was wealthy. Hiromasa didn’t recall meeting the daughter before. She was quite lovely in a cold, haughty way, and looked to be something of a challenge.

Not that he was intending on meeting such a challenge, but a man could admire, and all ladies enjoyed admiration.

Lady Kishi gave him a raking glance of utmost disapproval and turned away.

Chastened, Hiromasa fidgeted. “Since you’re busy, Seimei, I will come back another time.”

“No. You may stay.” Seimei beckoned him closer. “Lord Hiromasa may be of assistance,” he said to Lady Kishi. “He has helped me on a number of occasions and his wisdom has always proved invaluable.”

“Wisdom,” Lady Kishi repeated. Only her eyes were visible over the top of the fan, but that was enough for Hiromasa to ascertain her doubt.

“Perhaps that is the wrong word,” Seimei said. “I meant knowledge.”

“There’s a difference?” Hiromasa settled himself on a mat a respectful distance away from the lady.

Seimei gave him a gleaming look. “Naturally there’s a difference. While you ponder upon that, my dear Hiromasa, perhaps you, Lady Kishi, will be good enough to repeat the circumstances that led you to call upon me.”

With another disparaging look in Hiromasa’s direction, Lady Kishi began her tale. Her husband always came to Lake Biwa for the summer months, she said, while she herself remained in the capital. It was an arrangement that suited them both, but this year their children had caught a fever. Though their sons had rallied, their daughter was very sick.

“My husband dotes on her,” Lady Kishi said quietly. “I did not want him to worry, so I delayed in sending a messenger until the doctors warned me of the severity of the illness. The first messenger I sent to our estate here in Otsu, but the servants told my messenger that Tanabe hadn’t been resident since a brief visit at the end of the fifth month.”

Hiromasa had heard such stories before. He shifted, uncomfortable in the knowledge that poor Lady Kishi was no doubt about to discover that her husband had a lover.

“He keeps a mistress,” she continued. “The girl lives in the mountains to the north-west of the lake.”

Startled by her matter-of-fact tone, Hiromasa gurgled. “You know this?”

Lady Kishi looked at him and, with slow deliberation, closed her fan to reveal her pale, lovely face. “Of course I know. His attempts at discretion are laughable, but at least he attempts them. Fortunately I am not prone to jealousy. Indeed, I wish he would marry the girl and bring her into a respectable household, but knowing Tanabe, if he did he’d find fault with her and she would end her days unhappy.”

“You see, Hiromasa, the benefits of knowledge and wisdom,” Seimei said.

Hiromasa huffed, unconvinced. “So Lord Tanabe is with the girl now?”

“No.” Lady Kishi had laid her folded fan on the floor. Now she took it up and clutched it tight in one hand. “I sent the messenger back to Otsu with instructions to go to the girl’s house if his master was still absent. He made sure not to alarm her, but from speaking with others in the neighbourhood he discovered that Tanabe had taken his leave some two days prior.”

She paused, gathering herself. “My husband preferred to travel through the backwoods. The messenger had no trouble discovering the route. He also discovered Tanabe’s horse tethered to a tree. Its saddlebags were untouched. My husband was nowhere to be found.”

Seimei touched a fingertip to the floorboards. “Was anything else missing?”

Lady Kishi exhaled. For the first time Hiromasa saw anxiety in her expression. “A waterskin.”

“And your messenger searched the surrounding area,” Seimei said.

“Of course.” Both hands now gripped the fan. “He found nothing. There was a pond, but no signs of violence nearby. A village lies to the other side of the mountain, but none of the people there had any knowledge of my husband.”

“Perhaps he met with an accident,” Hiromasa suggested.

“Then where is he?” Lady Kishi snapped. “My messenger is an expert woodsman. He would have found Tanabe if there was anything to be found. My husband has vanished, Lord Hiromasa. He’s vanished, and our daughter is in pain and cries out for her father, and he has _vanished_.”

Abashed by her outburst, Hiromasa ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” She flipped open her fan and retreated behind it once again. “It is I who am sorry. My daughter’s health is no concern of yours.”

Hiromasa worried. “Is she so very sick? There is a doctor I can recommend...”

“Thank you, but I will manage.” Lady Kishi sat silent for a moment, altogether less haughty than she’d first appeared. “I cannot be away from my daughter for much longer, Lord Seimei. Please, I beg of you—find my husband.”

* * *

“Do you think a demon has taken him?” Hiromasa shaded his eyes with a hand and gazed around the forest. The pine trees stood tall, their needles dried to the shade of old bloodstains. The path was of packed earth so dry their horses raised dust with every step. Even the air smelled dry and hot.

“One can never be sure.” A faint sheen of sweat glistened at Seimei’s nape. It was his only outward sign of humanity, for his ink-black hair was perfectly tied, his hunting costume was pristine white, and his ice-blue under-robe immaculate. “In many cases, the explanation is mundane. But this one is interesting. We may rule out petty theft, since the horse and saddlebags were untouched.”

“It may be a crime of passion,” Hiromasa suggested, nudging his horse to walk alongside Seimei’s mount. “Maybe Lord Tanabe’s mistress has another admirer. Maybe she took another lover for those months of the year when Lord Tanabe was absent. And maybe this other man grew jealous and decided to rid himself of his rival.”

Seimei slanted him an amused look. “Have you been reading romances again, Hiromasa?”

He had, but that was hardly the point. “You have to admit, it’s a viable theory.”

“I am certainly not dismissing it out of hand.”

Hiromasa nodded. “I like my theory more than the demon theory.”

Seimei snorted. “Very well, if Tanabe was murdered by a jealous lover I will let you deal with the miscreant.”

“Must you say ‘murdered’?” Hiromasa gave a shudder.

“You were the one who raised the possibility.”

“I didn’t use that word. I spoke obliquely.”

“One should never speak obliquely, Hiromasa.”

Hiromasa gaped. “This, from you! Seimei, I am astonished!”

Seimei turned a curious gaze upon him. “I never speak obliquely. I always say precisely what I mean.”

This was so patently untrue that Hiromasa wanted to protest in the strongest and most vociferous terms, but alas, he knew any argument would be one he’d end up losing. Instead he returned his attention to the forest.

Something glittered beyond the trees. A sparkle, sudden and arresting. He reined in his horse and stared, tilting his head first one way then the other as he tried to get a clearer view.

Seimei turned back. “What is it?”

Hiromasa pointed. “There. Between the trees. I think... I think it’s water. The way the sunlight shines upon it...”

“Indeed.” Seimei jumped from his horse and set off across the dusty ground.

After a moment, Hiromasa dismounted. As he tethered the animals, he reflected that only eight days ago Lord Tanabe must have done a similar thing. Could this be the same pond that had tempted Tanabe to fill his waterskin?

Seimei strolled between the trees, the shadows cutting sharp lines across his white hunting costume. He seemed in no hurry to approach the pool and instead wandered in wide, random arcs. Hiromasa decided to be more direct. On his way, he noticed a faded sign painted on a board that hung from a branch of a pine tree.

He stopped. The image was crudely drawn. When first executed, the paint had run, obscuring the picture somewhat. Puzzled by what it could represent, Hiromasa went closer, then stepped back. His gaze went to the pond, a pretty place with a neat circle of grass all the way around it and the spring bubbling out from beneath a boulder. He looked back at the sign. Yes, there it was—that blob to the right was surely the boulder, and there was the pond, its surface rippled in the image even though in reality it lay as smooth as silk.

Pleased that he’d deciphered part of the image, he focused on the thing painted to the left. It was vaguely humanoid in shape, and seemed to drip. But that could simply have been the paint running. Or was it meant to represent water? Or blood?

“Keep away from the water.”

The voice came from behind, the accent almost impenetrable. Hiromasa jumped, then turned in a flurry of brocade and unlined silk to behold a woodcutter—or at least Hiromasa hoped he was a woodcutter, and a friendly one at that, for the man carried an axe.

“The water?” Hiromasa repeated. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

A scowl darkened the woodcutter’s already grim expression. “No one around these parts drinks that water. Nor do they bathe in it. Nor do they water their animals with it. Nor do they go near it.”

This sounded rather ominous. Hiromasa cast a glance sidelong, looking for Seimei. All he saw was the pond, the water glinting in the sunlight. “Very well,” he said, “I won’t go near it.”

“Made a sign, I did.” The woodcutter indicated the board on the pine tree. “Warning folk to stay away. Some of them didn’t listen. Fools.”

Hiromasa nodded. “I was just admiring your sign. It’s very... instructive. Although I must admit I’m rather at a loss as to what, exactly, is depicted there.” He pointed at the right side of the picture. “This is the boulder, yes? And this is the pool. But this...” He gestured to the strange humanoid creature. “Honestly, I don’t know what this is. And the sign is somewhat faded now. Perhaps if you were to paint another one?”

The woodcutter stared at him. “Should be clear enough what it is. Clear enough to make people stay away. But they can’t, not once they see it. Might be in folk’s nature to be curious, but it leads to trouble.”

“My mother would agree with you on that count.” Hiromasa smiled, glancing around again. Where had Seimei gone? Surely he hadn’t vanished like Lord Tanabe. Reminded of their mission, Hiromasa faced the woodcutter again. “I don’t suppose you saw a nobleman this past week? Short fellow, about so high. Wispy moustache and a round face.”

The scowl returned. “Already told that other man from the capital. If he passed by here, you’ll not see him again.”

“His horse was found on the path,” Hiromasa said. “Why would someone take Lord Tanabe and not his horse?”

“Because some demons prefer human flesh,” Seimei said, his voice a soft purr in Hiromasa’s ear.

Hiromasa jumped. Really, did everyone have to creep around? Especially when the conversation had turned to demons. It was most unfair to sneak up on a man and mention demons. His heart galloping, Hiromasa exhaled in annoyance. “Seimei. This gentleman was telling me of the dangers of the pond. Apparently it’s a most insalubrious place.”

“So I gather from the sign.” Seimei raised an eyebrow at the woodcutter. “Your work?”

“Yes, my lord.” The woodcutter made a clumsy bow, and Hiromasa didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused by the man’s sudden deference. “This humble person is called Nagai, lord. I painted the sign to warn travellers to stay away from the water.”

Seimei went closer to the board. “And is it a good likeness?”

“Enough that folk will know to avoid this place.” Nagai put down his axe and leaned on the handle. “I am no artist, my lord.”

That was an understatement if ever Hiromasa had heard one. “I still don’t know what it is.”

“My dear Hiromasa, I’d have thought it was obvious.” Seimei smiled at him.

“It’s a kappa,” Nagai said.

“It is?” Startled, Hiromasa studied the picture again. He supposed at one angle it could resemble a kappa, but really, it didn’t look like one at all. Perhaps he shouldn’t say such things out loud, for the woodcutter was hardly a court artist intent on capturing beauty, but if Nagai truly wanted to warn people away from the pool, then he should make a better attempt to depict the monster that dwelt in the water.

“Kappa have scales,” Hiromasa said. “And longer limbs. And their eyes protrude and swivel like the eyes of a fish. They have sharp beaks like a turtle. And...”

Nagai shook his head. “Maybe kappa in the capital look like that, but this one looks like this.”

Hiromasa wrinkled his nose at the image of the deformed kappa. “How horrible!”

Apparently tired of the discussion, Seimei wandered back towards the pond, the trailing hem of his hunting costume making soft dragging sounds through the dust and then swishing through the circle of grass.

“Don’t get too close.” Nagai hefted the axe back over his shoulder and followed Seimei, casting anxious looks towards the water. “The kappa takes men of all stations, my lord. It won’t spare you on account of your rank.”

A half smile touched Seimei’s lips. “All the same, I believe it would find me rather indigestible.”

“It’s better not to test the creature, my lord.” Nagai hopped from one foot to another in his agitation. “It took my friend Manjiro during the fourth month last year. Since then it’s snatched away a number of other men, villagers and unwary travellers both. Fortunately our women stay close to their homes and gather foodstuffs from the other side of the mountain, well away from this cursed place.” He paused, sudden grief weighing him down. “The only woman it’s ever taken was my sister, Omaki.”

“They all just vanished?” Hiromasa asked.

“Manjiro didn’t. We found him, my lord. Pieces of him, at any rate.” The grief was replaced by a blank expression.

Hiromasa’s sympathy was quick to engage with the unfortunate woodcutter. How awful it must have been for him to find his friend partially devoured by a demon!

“You lost your sister, you said.” Seimei swung away from the pond to look at Nagai. “When was she taken?”

Nagai hung his head, the sorrow rolling back to slump his shoulders. “She was the first victim. She vanished on the eighth day of the fourth month. Manjiro’s body was found here three days later. After that, the womenfolk stayed away, and only fools or desperate men have come here since.”

Seimei gave him a sharp look. “You warn your children to stay away, too, I trust.”

“Of course.” Nagai seemed offended that the question had been asked. “Everyone knows kappa have a fondness for the flesh of children.”

Hiromasa shivered, remembering a time from his childhood when he’d wanted to swim in Lake Biwa. His mother had forbidden him to do so, telling him that if he ventured into the water, a kappa would eat him. He hadn’t believed her. Lake Biwa was as big as an ocean. If anything lived in there, it would be a dragon, and a dragon would eat a dozen kappa for its noontime snack. With this knowledge in mind, he’d slipped out of the house and gone swimming. He was safe enough; not even a dragon would bother with a very small boy splashing about in the shallows.

Except he’d soon got out of his depth, the muddy bottom suddenly shelving and the water going from pleasantly cool to shockingly cold. Just as he realised he might be in danger, his mother and nursemaid had run to the shore trailed by frantic servants, and they’d raised a terrible cry.

At that moment, something had wrapped around his foot. Something dark and slimy and cold. He’d panicked, forgetting how to swim, and he’d gone under. He still remembered the heart-bursting panic as he’d thrashed about, bubbles marking the loss of his breath, his limbs flailing as he fought to free himself from the thing that held tight to his ankle. He’d seen something in the depths, something with eyes that gleamed up at him, and he fought anew with furious strength.

He’d thought he would die, swallowed up by the lake, dragged into an abyss of numbing cold, and then the eyes blinked and the restraint around his ankle was gone. He’d shot to the surface, erupting with a huge splash, and then the servants were swimming towards him and his mother was on the shore, screaming his name as tears ran down her cheeks.

One of the gardeners had carried him out of the water. Hiromasa recalled how he could barely stand, how he’d been afraid of looking down at his feet in case he could see the mark of the demon upon him.

Then his mother slapped him hard across the face. She’d banished him inside the house and kept him there for the rest of their stay.

Over the years, Hiromasa had convinced himself that it was nothing but a sense of guilt and some kind of underwater plant that had almost made him drown that day, but he’d never been able to shift the memory of the golden eyes.

He pulled himself from his thoughts as Nagai continued to talk. Despite the warnings from their parents, the woodcutter said, a few children had ventured here as a dare. Fortunately none had come to any harm, receiving only a nasty fright. They’d said they saw a kappa come creeping out of the water, but it didn’t touch them. They’d cowered on the grass and it had circled them, sniffing at them. Ignoring the girls, it had sniffed again at the boys before sliding back into the water.

“Interesting.” Seimei gazed into the pond. “Did any of the children come here a second time?”

Nagai’s features darkened. “One did. My neighbour’s lad, earlier this year in the second month, after he’d turned fourteen. Trying to impress a girl, he was. Foolish decision. He never returned, and we never found anything of him to give to his grieving parents.”

“Interesting,” Seimei said again. He stalked around the pond like a heron, picking his way delicately around the stones tumbled near the boulder, then darted down to catch up something that had been concealed between the rocks.

“A piece of brocade!” Hiromasa exclaimed, going as near to the water as he dared. He took the scrap of cloth from Seimei’s outstretched hand and looked closer, recognising the weave and design as belonging to one of the best merchants in the capital.

“I suspect if we ask Lady Kishi, she will confirm this brocade belonged to her husband,” Seimei said. “Lord Tanabe did indeed meet his end here.”

“Along with many other men,” Hiromasa pointed out, shuddering at the thought.

“I wonder.” Seimei lifted his head, his gaze intense. “Kappa do not usually have a preference. Why does this one only take men?”

* * *

Nagai offered them his hospitality, but Seimei refused. Hiromasa imagined they’d continue on their journey until they reached the village where Lord Tanabe’s mistress dwelt. Instead, after riding for an hour, Seimei turned his horse and retraced their path back to the vicinity of the kappa’s pool.

Accustomed to Seimei’s whims as he was, Hiromasa felt justified in protesting. “It’s growing late. Soon it will be dark. Even if you light our way with fireflies, it’s not the same. And think of the horses! They’re tired. I’m tired. I’d like to sleep in a proper bed tonight, even if the accommodation is rough and full of fleas. By the way, I never had the chance to mention the mosquito bites from the other night—”

Seimei gave him a twinkling look. “What makes you think they were mosquito bites?”

Hiromasa’s mind went blank. “Because... That is to say... Seimei!”

Seimei’s laughter rang around the forest.

“They were mosquito bites,” Hiromasa said tetchily. “I know it because they itched.”

“And mine do not?”

“Seimei!” A blush firing his cheeks, Hiromasa looked around. “It is most improper to discuss such matters in public!”

“In public.” Seimei raised his eyebrows.

“You know what I mean! Anyone could be behind those trees!” Hiromasa didn’t know why he bothered. “And stop trying to distract me from the original topic. We were speaking of sensible places to spend the night.”

“Indeed, which is why we’ve returned here.” Instructing his mount to halt, Seimei swung himself down. He gathered the saddlebags and started off through the trees towards the faint glimmering of water.

“Sensible, Seimei. Do you need me to define the word?” With a sigh, Hiromasa slid from his horse. While he tended to it, he continued talking, pitching his voice loud enough that it would carry to his recalcitrant friend. “Sleeping in a forest is not sensible. We have no supplies and only a limited amount of food, and though I’m quite content to eat meagre fare while we’re on the road, there are limits. Also, sleeping in a forest near a pond inhabited by a demon is even less sensible. Seimei! Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” Seimei emerged from the darkening wood and smiled. “We will make our camp here.”

Hiromasa realised he should have known better. From the simplest of items, twigs and pine needles and a scattering of dried vines, Seimei conjured an almost respectable shelter for them. From a handful of grass and feathers he created a sleeping mat cushioned against the hard earth and knotted tree roots. They still had to make do with the small amount of food they’d carried with them, but since Seimei had thought to bring a jar of wine, the evening passed pleasantly enough. 

They retired to bed when it got dark. Night birds hooted and animals prowled, or perhaps they didn’t and it was just Hiromasa’s imagination. Nonetheless he made the most of it, pressing close beneath the covering of their spread cloaks and burying his face in the smoky warmth of Seimei’s unbound hair. Seimei nipped at him, teeth sharp and fox-like, and Hiromasa soon forgot the indignity of sleeping in a forest.

When he woke, the moon was up and the woods lay in silence. Hiromasa lifted his head, alert for danger, but could sense nothing. That in itself was strange. He should be able to feel _something_ —and if his instincts were clamouring, then Seimei should have been awake long before him. Instead Seimei still lay sleeping within the circle of his arms.

Perhaps there was no danger after all. Perhaps this was a dream, and a rather dull one at that.

Restless and fidgety, Hiromasa eased away from Seimei and got up. The night was warm enough to do without his cloak, so he re-tied his hakama and brushed down his robe. Making sure not to disturb the white pebbles that marked the protective borders of their camp, he stepped over the boundary and went wandering through the forest.

The moonlight cast the world into shadowed tones. The water glimmered, the only absolute except for the moon itself, but Hiromasa resolutely stayed away. He went to check on the horses, walked a short distance down the path and saw nothing, then turned back with a sigh.

As he made his way to where Seimei slept, Hiromasa noticed a dark splotch on the ground. The earth was pale here, the topsoil turned to dust from the long, hot summer, so the splotch stood out even under the moonlight. He crouched to study it, then saw a second splotch, and a third, and a fourth. By the time he found the fifth splotch, the shape had resolved itself into a footprint.

Hiromasa stared at it for a long time, then slowly raised his head and looked around. Nothing stirred. Away to the left, Seimei continued to sleep soundly.

His heart racing, Hiromasa stood and followed the footprints. Now the splotches made sense. They were uneven, over-wet shapes made by someone who had just risen from a body of water. Except the pond was over there, and the footprints—human footprints, small and quite delicate—led towards the water, not away from it.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He should wake Seimei and let him deal with it. But something urged Hiromasa to continue on his way, following the footprints around the trees, up a slight rise, down again, gradually going closer and closer to the pool. Maybe it wasn’t the kappa who’d left the prints. Nagai’s painting hadn’t depicted human feet, after all. Kappa had webbed feet. Everyone knew that. So maybe this wasn’t the kappa. Maybe it was a thief, intent on robbing them while they slept. Maybe it was even Nagai.

But the footprints were small. Feminine.

Hiromasa came to a halt. The footprints stopped at the grass around the pond. If he looked closer, he could see a faint tread, but already the grass was springing back up as if no one had passed this way. And indeed, he’d heard nothing, seen nothing. If anyone had been abroad in the forest, he’d have known.

He sank to his knees and crawled across the grass. The pool looked peaceful and still. The moonlight glinted on the surface. A great thirst rose in him. Hiromasa went closer, leaning over the water. He reached out—

Seimei’s reflection appeared behind him in the pond.

Hiromasa started, snatching away his hand before he could touch the surface. He tumbled backwards and bumped against Seimei, who stood stately and elegant even in dishabille and with his hair spilling over his shoulders.

Seimei touched him, a brief caress. “Come back to bed, Hiromasa.”

Grateful, chastened, and maybe a little bit frightened, Hiromasa hurried away. When he glanced back, he saw ripples spreading across the pond.

* * *

Hiromasa woke a second time to brilliant sunshine and dry heat. He rolled over beneath his cloak, reaching out, but Seimei was gone. Turning onto his back, Hiromasa stared up at the pine trees, the canopy of branches stark against the sky. Birdsong drifted on the morning breeze. The dusty smell of parched earth surrounded him.

He got up and stretched, then caught sight of a flash of white by the pool. Seimei, dressed in his hunting costume and a violet under-robe, his hair once again twisted into a topknot and concealed beneath a lacquered cap. Seimei, pacing barefoot through the grass circling the pond, venturing altogether too close to the water for Hiromasa to feel comfortable.

“Beware of the kappa,” Hiromasa said, inching closer but not daring to look into the pool.

“I don’t believe it’s a kappa.” Seimei crouched beside the boulder and touched his fingers to the ribble of springwater emerging from beneath the rock. “You struck upon it yesterday with your criticism of the woodcutter’s art. Nagai told us that the creature depicted upon the sign is as accurate a likeness as he could make it. When you challenged him on certain physical aspects, he claimed that kappa in the capital must be different.”

Hiromasa eyed him uneasily. “I suppose you have made the acquaintance of numerous kappa.”

“Indeed I have.” Seimei licked his fingers to taste the springwater, then turned and trailed his hand across the surface of the pond. “There was one salient point you missed, though, when you were describing a typical kappa.”

Yesterday seemed like a long time ago. Hiromasa frowned. “Scales, beaks, boggling eyes, long limbs...”

“The source of their power, Hiromasa. You forgot that.” Seimei licked his fingers again. He wrinkled his nose, but seemed satisfied. Rising to his feet he continued, “At the top of their skulls, kappa have an indentation that contains water from their lake or pond or river. It is this water that enables them to leave their domain and go wandering on dry land. The creature that inhabits this pool has no such reservoir in the painting, and Nagai did not mention it when you were critiquing him yesterday.”

Hiromasa considered this. “Then maybe Nagai is right, and kappa have a different appearance in each province.”

“No.” Seimei shook his head, an amused gleam lighting his expression. “The colour of their skin may change, and some are definitely more aggressive than others, and they vary in the kinds of food they enjoy—aside from human flesh, of course—but in basic anatomy, kappa all look alike. Consider, too, another unalterable fact: kappa are curious about humans. Nagai’s village is not so far distant, as are a number of other places. If a kappa was roaming around, I would have heard about it before now. Then there’s the fact that kappa have a preference for eating children...”

“And Nagai told us it left the village children alone,” Hiromasa finished. He bit his lip. “Seimei, there’s something else. Kappa have webbed feet, yet last night I followed a set of human footprints. They circled around for a while, then ended right here at the pond.”

“Indeed.” Seimei was silent for a while, his gaze thoughtful as he looked at the glittering surface of the water. “There we have it, then. Whatever inhabits this pond is not a kappa at all.”

Things always seemed more terrifying when they were unknown quantities. Hiromasa took a step backwards. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” A sudden smile, as swift and sharp as winter sunlight, blazed across Seimei’s features. “Shall we find out?”

Hiromasa knew better than to agree to such a question, but he did it all the same. Curiosity was a terrible habit. His mother had always warned him about it, told him that if he accepted that things just were, he would come to no harm. How peculiar, then, that he should have formed this bond with Seimei, who provoked curiosity by his very existence and seemed to draw curiosities to him like bees to nectar.

Halfway through this analogy, Hiromasa began pondering if he too was a bee drawn to Seimei’s nectar, but the idea seemed vaguely inappropriate and not the kind of thing that should fill a gentleman’s thoughts. He abandoned the notion when Seimei asked if he was ready.

“I am,” Hiromasa said, though he still had no idea what he’d agreed to or even if they had a plan.

“Approach the pond,” Seimei said when Hiromasa looked to him for instruction.

“That’s all?”

Seimei gave him an encouraging smile. “That’s all.”

This didn’t seem like much of a plan, but Hiromasa trusted Seimei. Trying not to betray his nervousness, he moved towards the pool, turning back his sleeves to avoid trailing them in the water. He looked at the surface, so calm and still it could be used as a mirror. It reflected the empty sky, a perfectly blank surface touched superficially by glisters of sunlight.

His mind unanchored and drifted free. The water looked so refreshing. He was thirsty. As parched as the earth. He dropped to his knees, the grass soft beneath him. The pond sparkled. He went closer and leaned forward. Cupping his hands, he dipped them into the water.

So cold. So inviting.

So... _red_.

Thrown from his trance, he gasped, but before he could pull away, Seimei’s voice rang out in command: “Stay there, Hiromasa. Let her come to you.”

_Her?_

Hiromasa gasped again, this time in outraged shock. “I’m _bait_?”

That brought a chuckle in response. “Of course you are. A handsome young man is this creature’s preference.”

Diverted, Hiromasa looked up, dabbling his fingertips in the pond. “You think I’m handsome?”

“Handsomer than Lord Tanabe.” Seimei’s expression was droll.

“I don’t believe that’s a compliment.”

“Ah, Hiromasa. I don’t believe in compliments. They’re shallow.”

“But pleasing,” Hiromasa argued. “Bringing pleasure to someone isn’t shallow.”

Seimei’s mouth curved. “That all depends on the method of pleasuring.”

Blushing with confusion, Hiromasa was wondering how the conversation had turned to this when something gripped his hands. Something cold and slimy, a touch that slid across his skin until it found purchase and clung on tight.

He looked down into the pond. Something rose to the surface. A pale, bloated body. A face with cold, dead eyes.

Hiromasa jerked back in shock. So great was his surprise that he stood up. The creature came with him, her mouth open wide to reveal sharp teeth, her breath stagnant. A ragged shift clung to her body and her hair was twined with streamers of pondweed. Water poured from her, soaking into Hiromasa’s robes as she grappled with him, trying to drag him down into the pool.

“Wait,” Seimei said, his voice loud with authority. He caught hold of her hair, wrapped it twice around his wrist, and hauled her backwards until she released Hiromasa. With an angry hiss she spun in Seimei’s grasp to face him, showing absolutely no discomfort at the fact that he was holding her by the hair.

They looked at one another for a long moment in silent communication, and then Seimei said, “I see.”

She made a low, soft noise, the sound somewhere between hope and grief, and then he let her go. Her hair unravelled from his wrist, splattering water everywhere, and she vanished back into the pool without a splash. Not even a ripple marked her passing.

Hiromasa stared at the pond. “She’s... she’s so sad.”

“So would you be if you had been murdered by the man you loved.” With delicate motions, Seimei dried his hand on the pristine white cloth of his hunting costume. “Her name is Omaki.”

Recognition dawned. Hiromasa blinked. “The woodcutter’s sister?”

“Precisely so.” Seimei came closer, his hunting costume absorbing the wet stain until the cloth was perfect once more. “Her lover wanted to marry a girl whose father runs the inn at the north-west point of Lake Biwa. Omaki had been promised to him since childhood and had no intention of being put aside. After listening to her protests and declarations of love, he seemed to repent of his decision and asked to meet her here early one morning. When Omaki arrived, he seized her, held her head beneath the water until she drowned, then pushed her body into the pond weighted down with stones. Ever since, she’s taken her revenge on the men who stray here... and her decomposing body has poisoned the water so no living creature will drink from it.”

“Poor girl, to be so ill-used.” Hiromasa sighed, his heart going out to the unfortunate Omaki. “Why are men so fickle?”

Seimei made no reply.

“Well.” Determined to do something, Hiromasa peered into the pool. “What can we do for her? Maybe if we found the foul lout who murdered her...”

“He’s already dead,” Seimei said. “Though not at her hands.”

Hiromasa puzzled over this comment for a while, then part of the answer came to him. “Manjiro! Manjiro killed her!”

“Indeed.” Seimei looked pleased at Hiromasa’s quick thinking. “The rest of the tale may be easily told: Nagai killed his erstwhile friend Manjiro and left the body here as an offering to Omaki’s spirit. But in seeking revenge for his sister, Nagai unwittingly gave her power, and for over a year she’s been feeding on any man foolish enough to look into the pond.”

“But not the children,” Hiromasa said. “She never harmed the children.”

Seimei inclined his head. “Only the boy who returned just after he’d entered manhood.”

“But what shall we do?” Hiromasa’s head spun. “We have a murdered woman who’s become a vengeful ghost, a man who committed murder to revenge his sister and who now tries to warn people away from her lair, and a murdered murderer who... I don’t know, he probably got what he deserved, but really, Seimei, the point is—”

“Yes, Hiromasa?”

“The point is,” Hiromasa continued, drawing breath, “we can’t allow Omaki to continue preying on hapless men. I’m sure it’s not good for her soul.”

Seimei smiled. “Only you would think of her soul rather than the souls of the hapless men.”

Hiromasa blushed. “That’s irrelevant. What are we going to do?”

Kneeling on the grass, Seimei dipped a finger into the water and described a series of symbols across the surface. “What we are going to do, my dear Hiromasa, is raise Omaki’s body from these cold depths and allow her brother to send her soul through the gates of the Western Paradise.”

* * *

They waited beside the funeral pyre on a bare patch of the mountain away from the tree-line. To be certain no sparks would jump and cause a fire on the dry-tinder undergrowth, Seimei had cast a spell around the pyre. No doubt a spell would also be necessary to make the pyre blaze, for Omaki’s body ran with water and dampened the wood stacked around her corpse.

“This will please my sister’s spirit?” Nagai asked, the torch wavering in his hand as he stood before the pyre. “This will release her from the creature she’s become?”

Seimei nodded. “Yes.”

“And what of me?” Defiance touched the woodcutter’s tone. “Manjiro was my friend, but he ruined Omaki and tried to abandon her. I begged him not to hurt her, but he was greedy and selfish, too desperate to become the son-in-law of the innkeeper. He’d dishonoured our friendship even before he murdered Omaki. I did what I had to do, and I don’t regret it.”

“You took a life,” Seimei said gently, “and though you sought to warn others of Omaki’s angry spirit, men still died. The apportioning of blame in this case is difficult to decide, and I cannot grant you absolution even if you wanted it. You will be required to make penance at the end of your days, but neither I nor Lord Hiromasa will pass judgement upon you or speak of this to anyone else.”

Nagai ducked his head. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you both.”

He thrust the torch into the pyre. Seimei whispered a few words and the flames caught, rolling up in bright tongues of orange and gold to lick at the heavens.

They stayed a moment longer, then left Nagai to his mourning.

* * *

“Perhaps we should call upon Tanabe’s mistress and tell her the sad news,” Hiromasa suggested as they mounted their horses.

Seimei gave him a beady look. “That would be a thoughtful gesture.”

“It is surely better for her to know her lover is dead rather than for her to think he went off and abandoned her.” Hiromasa fussed with the reins as he tried to turn his horse in the right direction. “I know _I_ would not like anyone to leave me in such a way.”

Toying with a smile, Seimei asked, “Is that censure I hear?”

Hiromasa sniffed. “If so, then it is merely the echo of your conscience.”

Now Seimei laughed outright. “What makes you think I have a conscience?”

“Well.” Hiromasa paused to think. “You assisted Lady Kishi, for a start.”

Seimei’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps I was bored and in need of stimulation.”

Hiromasa huffed. “My companionship is not stimulating enough?”

“Now you’re fishing for compliments.” Seimei’s smile deepened. “I told you, Hiromasa, I don’t believe in compliments.”

“No.” Hiromasa returned the smile, perfectly content. “No, you don’t.”


End file.
